


Let Me Pretend

by SiderumInCaelo



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e08 Furt, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What goes though Kurt's head when he decides not to tell Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester about Karofsky's bullying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Pretend

I want to tell you what’s wrong. 

It wouldn’t be hard. I can see myself spilling out everything that Karofsky’s done to me, the reasons that I flinch when anyone slams their locker or gets too close to me. I’m so exhausted from handling everything on my own, pretending that I’m okay when I’m really, really not. Even I know that I’m way out of my depth, and at this moment, sharing it with you – or anyone, really – is tempting.

And I’m supposed to tell you. The standard advice is that if you have a problem, ask for help. If it’s depression, addiction, an eating disorder, bullying – whatever it is, the appropriate response is to get an adult involved. If you tell an adult, they can fix it. 

In theory.

I try to tell myself that I’m hesitant to be honest because Coach Sylvester’s here. And it’s true that I could never tell her the truth about what’s going on with Karofsky. I think she’d believe me, and she might even be inclined to help, but she’s too unpredictable and impulsive. She’d probably confront him, and I don’t want to think about how that could end. I think Karofsky really might’ve meant it when he said he’d kill me if I told anyone.

But honestly, I wouldn’t tell you anyway because I know adults don’t really fix everything. I’ve seen adults make far too many stupid mistakes and ad lib their way through too many situations to truly believe that they know what they’re doing. I want to believe it; I especially want to believe that teachers actually know how to handle life, not least because they’re shaping the next generation. I want to believe that if I gave in and spilled, you’d know what to say, you’d come up with a solution, you’d make me feel better. 

For a second, I can almost believe that you would. But it doesn’t last. I remember you walking past as I got tossed into dumpsters. You’ve either never noticed or cared that I get slammed into lockers. You ignore homophobic remarks, even in glee club. I remember that you didn’t ask where I was staying when Dad was in the hospital.

Not so deep down, part of me thinks you wouldn’t pay attention to this either. 

And I couldn’t take that. I can’t risk outing Karofsky to people I don’t trust, but even more I need to believe that you would care enough to do something, and competent enough to be helpful. Right now, I don’t feel like I could handle being proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can’t – or won’t – help. 

I look at you, and see the concerned expression on your face. I don’t know if it’s genuine or a mask, and I don’t want to know. 

I say nothing, and neither you nor Coach do anything, but as I walk out of the office I allow myself to get lost in the belief that you would have cared.


End file.
